Conversational Hazard
by Arsenal 14
Summary: When you mix too much info with a psychopathic Umbrella, the hunting ons.
1. From Dusk to Death

Conversational Hazard  
  
CHAPTER 1  
  
From Dusk To Death  
  
The errie sunset creeped deeply into Jackson's heart that hot summer evening. He felt chilled, even if it was about 90º farenheit. If it was the virus kicking in, he knew he was dead for sure. But, he'd hold out as long as Oliver got there. Oliver ALWAYS got there......didn't he? Jackson tried to remember if Oliver had ever not shown up. He'd said it was urgent in the E-Page. Now it was about 8:23PM. Where the hell was he?  
  
Jackson found a bit of anger seep into his veins and nerves as he remembered the last time he'd talked to Oliver. Two years ago, Jackson got a job at a Pharmacutical company called Umbrella Inc. Oliver, a life-long friend, and war-buddy from Vietnam & Desert Storm, had gotten pissed at Jackson was quitting the war-work to work as a pharmacist. Jackson fought back, still trying to explain he was working in the drug testing department. Oliver refused to respect the decision, said that Jackson would end up a junkie in the street, and left.  
  
The thoughts and memeories made Jackson sigh, seeing that he was ignorant in his decision to get the job. He'd seen something that just brought incredible chills to him. 'How can people sleep at night, knowing they're doing something like that?' he thought to himself quietly. Soon, there was the loud chugging sound of Oliver's slick old van, and Jackson looked about, trying to see it. And yep, there it was. The Camo-painted VW drove smoothly to another street corner, parked, and stopped running. Jackson tried to look and see if it was Oliver or if it was the van, but Oliver had sold it. Nope, it was Oliver. He recognized the grunt as the burly thirty-three year old man got out of his van. After twisting a few joints and cracking a few bones, Oliver walked slowly towards Jackson, jaywalking in the process.  
  
*****  
  
Oliver remembered the E-Page he'd gotten about 2 hours ago. "Come quick to AWD. Corner of Davis and Silveria. Urgent." He knew Jackson well enough that when it said Urgent, do anything to get there. Unfortunately, his van conked out for a few minutes on the way there. And plus he had hesitated when getting out of the house. He hated the abandoned warehouse district. Annoying as hell. Gangs all over the place, too many germs and viruses going around...blah! Well, at least the van had his storage in the back. Oughta keep him alive for awhile.  
  
Walking towards Jackson, he could feel a sense of relief. He had been pissed at his friend for going with Umbrella, but, he learned to respect the idea. It'd be good to see him, see what his job's been having him do, things like that. But, when he saw the look of fear and the paleness of Jackson's skin, his expression went puzzled. He walked up to Jackson, standing a few feet from his friend.  
  
Jackson looked him over and chuckled.  
  
"I see you've stayed in shape," he said, still chuckling.  
  
Oliver laughed, "and I see you kept the afro."  
  
Jackson looked up at his hair and snickered, "of course! Afros never go out of style...."  
  
The two roared in laughter, and as it calmed down, Jackson sighed depressedly.  
  
"So, what's this problem?" Oliver asked, his face going back into grizzled solider mode.  
  
"Oliver, you were right, I shouldn't have taken that job."  
  
Oliver snickered. "You wanted a non-battle based career, can't blame you for that."  
  
Jackson sighed again. "Umbrella's not really what you think it is."  
  
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "What?"  
  
Jackson took a deep breath and took a few steps back.  
  
"A few days ago, while I was working deep in the labs, I found a key to a room that was supposed to be forbidden."  
  
"Dammit, Jackson...." Oliver lowered his head and shook it, saying, "you were always a fucking snoop."  
  
"Oliver, you will never believe what they were testing these supposed 'drugs' on in there....if they were even drugs..."  
  
"........what?"  
  
"Humans."  
  
Oliver shrugged. "Nothing much. There's always human testing in these things."  
  
Jackson began sweating a bit, and with more emotion, continued.  
  
"But, you should've seen these people. Wearing prison uniforms, police uniforms, even some of these people  
  
looked as young as 15! And what was even more crazy was that they didn't even look ALIVE!"  
  
Oliver squinted. "You mean to tell me they were experimentting with drugs on dead people?"  
  
"I didn't say they were dead."  
  
All of a sudden, there was a low screeching sound, that just kept in a long drone, but suddenly got louder.  
  
Jackson and Oliver looked up, and all of a sudden, from the orangey sky, a green form started falling towards   
  
Jackson. The green form looked to be lizard-like, from what they could tell from it falling so quickly.  
  
Suddenly, it extended an arm, and the claw aimed right at Jackson's head.  
  
And suddenly, Oliver got a good look at the creature, as it landed, claw driving through Jackson's skull.  
  
The crunching and splattery noises made Oliver sick to his stomach, and his face turned incredibly pale, as he felt  
  
blood flow stop almost entirely.  
  
Then, the lizard-like creature screeched at Oliver, and pulled it's arm swiftly up.  
  
In a bone-cracking, nerve-splitting second, Jackson's head was not attached to his body anymore, being pulled up.  
  
The lizard-like creature jumpped back, pushing Jackson's body forward, and almost onto Oliver.  
  
Along with the head, came up the spine, with gore all over it.  
  
Blood continued to flow from Jackson's body, letting it pool, and making Oliver back away.  
  
He continued watching as the lizard creature discarded Jackson's head, tosing it behind it, and letting it clink and  
  
clatter on the pavement. It screeched again, and Oliver knew that his life would be over.....very soon.... 


	2. The Bloodflow Begins

CHAPTER 2  
  
The Bloodflow Begins  
  
The very simple, very explicitive thought that went through Oliver's head at that point was simply -  
  
"GET THE FUCK OUTTA THERE!"  
  
And with that, he turned and ran in the opposite direction, as the lizard creature began jumpping for him, claws flaying  
  
around. It just barely edged Oliver as he leaped off the sidewalk and onto the street.  
  
Oliver's van was about 30 feet away and he was sprinting like mad, as the creature bounded behind him.  
  
He took a small look behind himself, and his eyes widened in fear, noticing more creatures falling to the ground, not being  
  
hurt too badly by the impacts. He knew he had to get some sort of weapon and blow these fuckers away.  
  
He'd be goddamned if he didn't die trying to survive. He eventually made it to the side door of his Van.  
  
He quickly just smashed on it, making it open up quickly, and he ran inside, closing it behind him, and letting the strange  
  
beast behind him smashing into the door. Oliver quickly looked around, trying to find one of the guns in his van that he  
  
remembered to have actually loaded.  
  
He spotted his simple M8000S handgun in it's holster. He quickly rushed to it, and pulled it out, just as another ram from  
  
the creature was made. Suddenly, a claw smashed through the window, one of those "things" clawing through to get at  
  
Oliver. But, Oliver wouldn't have it.  
  
He aimed the handgun straight at the thing's head and pulled the trigger twice. His arm was a bit harmed by the two  
  
shocks that his body took from the gun firing, but it was worth it, as he lay on his left side, slightly holding himself up.  
  
The two bullets fired from the handgun went straight into the creature's arm, making two very visible holes from the  
  
9mm rounds. Blood squirtted a bit from the wound, and dripped itself onto the front seats of the van. But, most just  
  
flowed out and covered the arm in blood. The creature screeched and retreatted.  
  
The van was struck again by the creatures around it, and shook roughly.  
  
Oliver looked over to see a shotgun of his, and thought for a few seconds.  
  
He quickly put the M8000S in the holster again and put the holster on himself.  
  
His thoughts ran to what the hell these things were, and the shock of losing his friend started to slowly seep in as he  
  
grabbed the Benelli M3S Super 90, beginning to load it carefully. It was pretty obvious by this time who the hell had  
  
sent those things, so he wasn't thinking too much about that. The loss of Jackson would prove to be interesting to him.  
  
He loaded the last shot when the thought hit him like a bullet. "Gangs."  
  
The place was infestted with gangs, right? If he could lure the creatures to the gangs, the gangs would take care of the  
  
creatures. Simple. But, with a problem. What if he didn't survive? Where were these gangs? Would he have to interact  
  
them them? He gruffly grunted and cocked the shotgun. Who gives a shit?  
  
*****  
  
Oliver had three guns on him. All loaded. He had also some minor amounts of extra ammo for them. As much as he could  
  
carry. Most for the primary. His primary weapon was the big M3S, his most trustworthy shotgun. And then his secondaries  
  
were the M8000S and the IMI Desert Eagle (chambered for .50 Caliber rounds) which he had only an extra clip for.  
  
He didn't have any extra clips for the M8000S, just a box of bullets. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. He suddenly  
  
opened the side-door to the van and jumpped out, looking around cautiously. The sun was still slowly setting, almost  
  
annoyingly slow. Oliver could strangely feel anger rising in himself from it's slowness.  
  
He quickly snapped out of his mood, getting back to the task at hand. He heard some low screeching sounds coming from  
  
all around him. And suddenly, all of a sudden, he found himself surrounded by those things. And other things.  
  
These new creatures looked like the others but with charred-black skin, and glowing green eyes. Oliver held out his M3S  
  
and aimed it at the masses of creatures. There only seemed to be 10. He could take them. But, that was 10 years ago.  
  
He sighed.  
  
*****  
  
"GET THE FUCK OVER HERE, YOU FUCKING DICKLESS SHIT!"  
  
Jordan had been running for what seemed like hours. His skinny, unmuscular body couldn't take it that much. Michael's  
  
strong body was used to this, as he chased Jordan down through the warehouse. I guess you could say Jordan would  
  
deserve it. Killling Michael's boss was one thing. Killing Michael's best friend in the heist was another. Jordan still clutched  
  
the murder-weapon. His Colt 1911A1. 2 shots left. He'd counted. Michael was unarmed, but a big, strong, enormous  
  
gangster. As Jordan neared the blackened, dark exit of the warehouse, Michael saw something that would be imprintted  
  
in his brain for the rest of his life.  
  
Those green, glowing eyes.  
  
Only seen for a split second.  
  
The next thing he saw, Jordan was on his knees.  
  
But, his head was missing. Blood sprayed upwards like a fountain, as the body then fell on the hard cement.  
  
Michael stopped chase, after seeing Jordan go down.  
  
He had no weapons on him, and wondered who'd done that.  
  
And how.  
  
Then, he saw the glowing eyes again.  
  
They started moving back and forth quickly. A black, lizard-like creature on two legs walked from the darkness.  
  
Michael gulped. The green, glowing eyes stopped glowing, and showed green, lizard-like eyes that looked deep  
  
into Michael's soul, almost searching out his sins. Something to punish him with, a reason to slaughter him.  
  
The creature growled mildly, and opened it's mouth. Suddenly, a large green glob of goo came out towards Michael.  
  
It didn't hit him, landing a foot in front of him. Michael looked down at the green glob. It was melting the cement.  
  
Straight through. It was acidic. Heavily. He gulped deeply. The creature then screeched at him, and begin charging.  
  
It leaped high into the air and raised it's left claw. But, while in the air, it was suddenly riddled with buckshot.  
  
The pellets penetrated the skin of the creature, making green blood spray out in little squirts. The creature fell 4 feet  
  
away from Michael. It hit the cement with a loud, squishy, disgusting splat. It let out a minor screech and then another  
  
shot blast went into it's back, splattering another bunch of green, gooey blood.   
  
The bloody mess that was the creature was no more.  
  
Michael still looked at the creature, in shock mostly.  
  
He then stared hesitantly ahead of him.  
  
He saw a man. The man looked to be in his mid-fourties.  
  
He was wearing a plaid shirt, kakki pants, and sneakers.  
  
An older man wearing that and looking as strong as he did almost confused Michael.  
  
"Got a pest problem?" the man asked Michael. After a long pause, Michael replied, "yeh." The man smirked.  
  
"Name's Oliver Johnson." The smirk seemed to cool Michael down, even though he could still smell the fucking  
  
smell of the creature. Michael was about to announce himself when a sudden fast amount of screeches uproared  
  
in the warehouse. It came from where the other one had. Oliver turned to it and growled.  
  
"Not more of them. There's hundreds of them."  
  
"What the fuck ARE these things, muthafucka?!"  
  
"Don't have time to explain, just GO!"  
  
Michael did NOT need to be told twice.  
  
He suddenly charged off into the other end of the warehouse. But, out of nowhere, he heard a low hissing sound  
  
from above. He stopped to look up, but suddenly, a large glob of green acid suddenly dropped on his face.  
  
The goo started to melt through his dark skin, blood dripping down his face as the acid began spreading.  
  
Oliver looked at Michael quickly, and then looked back at the darkness.  
  
From the darkness, came two glowing green eyes.  
  
And also, three pairs of glowing red eyes.  
  
Meanwhile, Michael fell to his knees, screaming madly as his face began melting off.  
  
Blood, nerve, sinew, eventually bone....all beginning to melt away from his face as it plunged to the hard cement,  
  
having died from the pain. The acid continued burning, until his head was no more. Oliver watched the five creatures  
  
come from the darkness and found himself getting nervous. Very nervous.  
  
He'd remembered this nervous feeling from `Nam, but he'd only felt it when the Guerillas were near. Then, he realized it.  
  
There was something behind him.  
  
He turned around and saw nothing. But, then, in the corner of his eye, he saw a tiny shift in the light.  
  
And then he noticed two blue eyes, glowing as well. He began to sweat immensely.  
  
Cloaking creatures, too? Jesus!  
  
The creature suddenly decloaked itself, showing the skin like the others, but it was a nice, dark red.  
  
The blue eyes glowed almost soothingly at Oliver. He then turned around to the other five.  
  
He pumpped the shotgun and aimed it at them. Suddenly, one of them leaped at him, making him turn to his side and  
  
blasting it in the side, and pushing it to the pavement hard, making a blood mess as it rolled along the paved floor, landing on its side.  
  
Another one tried to attack him in the side, but he backed away just in time to dodge the claw jabbing forwards.  
  
He pumpped the shotgun quickly and blasted the arm, dead-on, blasting the arm straight off, making the black  
  
creature scream and howl in pain as it bled profusely from it's wound.  
  
Oliver pumpped the shotgun again, and the next one, the second black one, tried to leap at him.  
  
He aimed upwards, shooting two quick shots, and moving back to dodge the falling, now-headless body of the creature.  
  
Blood oozed madly from it's neck and hollowed-out stomach. He turned towards the next two that ran for him,  
  
and pumpped the shotgun again. Remembering he was low on ammo, he began backing away.  
  
As soon as one was close enough, he fired, blasting a bunch of buckshot into the lizard-like beast's neck, making streams  
  
and fountains of blood go out madly as it screeched and howled in immense pain, choking eventually and keeling over.  
  
Oliver suddenly pulled out the Desert Eagle in his left hand and tosed the shotgun as the other creature stopped and looked  
  
at him. He traded hands with the Desert Eagle and aimed it at this last one's forehead.  
  
"Say fuck you to your buddies for me!"  
  
He pulled the trigger, launching the high-calibre slug into the green-skinned creature's forehead, blasting the brains out the  
  
back of the head, making a large hole in the process, too. The blast also mildly hollowed-out the insides of the creature's  
  
brains, as it fell forwards and hit the cement hard. Oliver smirked and put the Desert Eagle back and grabbed his shotgun.  
  
"This is actually beginning to get fun." 


	3. Titty Clubs, Night Assaults, and Suicida...

CHAPTER 3  
  
Titty Clubs, Night Assaults, and Suicidal Temptation  
  
Oliver was still wearing his smirk as he came up to the strip bar.  
  
The sign read, "Titty Kitty". Sounded almost like a bar Oliver could like.  
  
So far, the streets had been empty. A few cars, empty. No one else. The only person he'd run into was Michael.  
  
There was no blood, no nothing. It was an entire ghost town. Or whatever it was. But, when Oliver nervously opened  
  
the door, he found it wasn't a ghost town at all....  
  
The walls were smeared in blood. The bodies were piled in the middle.  
  
They were drained. Intestinally, that is. Their muscle and veins were still there. But their skins weren't. A group of about  
  
10 strippers in the middle of the strip club, all laying accross the center platform, blood all over that portion, having been  
  
absorbed in the carpet & floor areas, leaving a blood stain look.  
  
Sickly, some of the strippers were still twitching here and there. And visibly, some had been aroused just as they had  
  
been killed. Their hair either ripped or bloodied to wetness, they were just drenched. It was immensely disturbing to see a  
  
sight like that again. It'd been about 30 years, but it was still just absolutely disgusting to look at.  
  
Their intestines still were strangely intact. Flies buzzing around the corpses, a few mosquitoes going and grabbing blood  
  
from the bodies. Their eyes....the lack of eyelids made them seem emotionless, like they were just dead flesh...  
  
...exactly what they were.  
  
The air smelled of death, clouding the smell of sweat and sex, overpowering it. As Oliver walked around, looking at the bar,  
  
the tables, the platforms....he didn't see any of those creatures. He even fired some spare shots into the air, testing for  
  
those cloaking ones again. He shrugged and just headed to the bar, looking behind it to see nothing. Not even a bartender  
  
or anything. Everything was silent except for his footsteps, giving the place an entirely dead prescence.  
  
Frustrated, and puzzled, Oliver started back towards the door. Then, he heard a whooping sound. One he'd heard too  
  
many times in `Nam. A helicopter....  
  
*****  
  
"We have to send in troops, sirs!" Jeff Landers roared at the board of directors.  
  
They all were shouraded in darkness, the only light being from the large monitor, which showed night-vision camera  
  
footage from a warehouse. There were bodies everywhere, what looked like a gang fight that had been interuptted by  
  
the MA-762s. Intestines missing from some of the opened bodies, heads missing occasionally, brains drying on the  
  
pavement. It was obviously night, a few burning areas showing this. The fires had probably been from molotov cocktails,  
  
as there seemed to be some in some of the gang members' hands.  
  
Jeff had been pressing the issue eversince he heard that not only had one of the two survived, but the MA series  
  
creatures were going all over the fucking place. They hunted everything, turning a good chunk of the area into nothing  
  
but a death surrounded hunting ground. The board of directors were being stubborn, Jeff having showed what the  
  
creatures did to humans, footage of what they'd done so far, and some photos of Oliver - and his experience.  
  
Tsuk, one of them, looked at Jeff, his glasses reflectting the light of the monitor.  
  
His hands were groupped together, his face showing a questionary look. "How long will it take for them to wipe out the  
  
city of San Francisco, Mr. Landers?" Jeff wiped some sweat off his forehead. "Judging by the amount that were released,  
  
they can't take out that place. But, they have enough on them to point the finger at us." This got a bunch of mumbling,  
  
murmuring, and grumbling from the board of directors. The President wiped his face off, rubbing his eye afterwards.  
  
"All of those for sending in a Countermeasures Service team....?"  
  
The board of directors, as well as the President of Umbrella Inc., rose their hand.  
  
*****  
  
As Oliver rushed outside, he felt himself slowly sink as he opened the door, as if events started moving slower and slower,  
  
like a John Woo movie. A blinding light hit the side of the strip-club's exterior, blinding Oliver a bit, making him close his  
  
eyes and hold up his shotgun. A booming voice on a loudspeaker yelled, "DROP THE WEAPON! DROP IT NOW!"  
  
There was the loud whupping sound of the helicopter which blew wind in all directions in it's landing spot.  
  
The soldiers were at their ready, sub machine guns aimed. Oliver couldn't see it, but he knew they were aimed at him,  
  
and that they WOULD exterminate him. But, he complied, ready to be full of holes, rather than ripped apart alive. But, as  
  
soon as the shotgun was half-way down, there was a loud scream from one of the soldiers, and suddenly, the lights on  
  
the helicopter suddenly turned towards another spot in the area. It shined on what looked like 40 of those green things coming down the street.  
  
They all ran and screeched at the soldiers, being fired upon by the machine guns on the helicopter as the rotors started  
  
to slowly die down. Oliver was now in the dark, and he made a run for it, holding onto his shotgun tightly.  
  
He quickly headed back the way he came, running around the corner and disappearing without a trace.  
  
Meanwhile, two of the soldiers pulled out a grenade in each hand, flipped the pin, and tosed them at the group of the  
  
creatures, then ran like hell back to the helicopter to get weapons. Behind them, they heard the blast, and stupidly didn't  
  
take into factor the idea of shrapnel. A few tiny, but fatal, pieces of metal went straight through their bodies, chewing up  
  
their intestines, and spurting blood on the dark, flame-glowed pavement.  
  
The Captain, Henderson, was laughing manaically as he pulled out his Desert Eagle, and began firing madly, just as one of  
  
the creatures leaped at him, swinging it's claw at him, and cutting Henderson's head right off, letting it fall and roll on the  
  
street. But, Henderson's gun kept on firing the last of its shots, hitting one of the green creatures, but blasting two  
  
soldiers in the stomach and head as well. The body then fell down and blood oozed out of the open wound where it's head  
  
was like squeezing the juice out of a steak, pooling massively as a group of the creatures circled and commenced eating him.  
  
The soldiers who were able to start firing went down fighting, most of them getting a few of the creatures before being  
  
sliced apart. Body parts and blood started packing the streets, making it look incredibly cluttered. In the cabin of the  
  
helicopter, the pilot was starting the helicopter, wanting to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, but suddenly,  
  
he saw one of the creatures in front of him on the windshield. It grinned an evil, maniacal grin of insanity and instinct.  
  
It screeched and suddenly smashed it's claw through the thick glass, shattering it everywhere, and began ripping the  
  
barrier open, as the pilot whimpered in fear, seeing his life flash before his eyes. The last thing he saw, was the firey  
  
glow of the explosion.  
  
Something had happened with the fuel and a spark.  
  
This caused the entire helicopter to explode into metallic parts and a hellfire of immense proportions.  
  
The creatures screeched in pain as the fire suddenly singed their bodies, some of them being disintergrated into nothing,  
  
some being engulfed in flames as they ran around, screeching and howling madly. Others that didn't get burned were sliced  
  
apart by shrapnel and huge metallic chunks of the helicopter. Only 2 of the 40 creatures survived.  
  
*****  
  
I need to get into a retirement home after this. I'm too old for this shit.  
  
Oliver was annoyed. He was about to be killed nicely, a soldier's death, but noooooo, those creatures had to ambush  
  
those strange-uniformed soldiers in the black. He'd run for awhile, and had come accross an underground rave club,  
  
where he had fixed himself a drink, while techno music blared in the back. The entire place was empty, but the music  
  
fooled Oliver. Maybe he was going crazy, he thought. But, those who go crazy don't know they are. Lucky bastards.  
  
The shotgun was right in front of him, and the M8000S was in his other hand as he drank his screwdriver.  
  
He sighed to himself, taking another sip. He'd thought of killing himself, but it didn't seem right. Wasn't his style.  
  
But, then again, killing monsters isn't your style either.  
  
He slowly turned and looked at the M8000S, it's nickel finish, it's safety switch, it's clip-release button, it's trigger-guard,  
  
it's trigger. He put his finger on the trigger, and slowly raised it to the side of his head. He smiled, thinking of his wife who  
  
was probably waiting at home for him to return... 


	4. New Alliances, New Teams

CHAPTER 4  
  
New Alliances, New Teams  
  
The silenced shot never was expectted.  
  
The 9mm lead tore through Oliver's skin roughly. He remembered that feeling. Hated it. But it was in the  
  
wrong goddamn place. ".......shit," Oliver groaningly said before passing out.  
  
"Yo, nigga, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!"  
  
"I told you I could nail him. I RULE as V.I.P., man!"  
  
"Good thing you did. That crack-a was gonna kill hisself."  
  
"He looks like a vet, B."  
  
"Look, let's take him back to the base. Riffmasta might find him useful!"  
  
"Roger that, B."  
  
"You play too much Counter-Strike, John."  
  
"Affirmative"   
  
*****   
  
"No one survived?"  
  
"Not one."   
  
Kenji was horrified to hear of the news about the squad. He was in command of the U.B.C.S. people in   
  
the San Francisco area. On the side, he was also UMB's T.I.U. (Tactical Infiltration Unit) commander,   
  
which had only about 20 or so members under it, including the ever-popular Leroy Wooley and Peter Benson.   
  
He'd heard about that dreadful mishap in sending MA-121s to get rid of Jackson. He'd known Jackson,   
  
target-practiced with him, but the news more of what had happened when Jackson became useless was   
  
more of a shock. Things had gone way too far and gotten way too oversized.   
  
The order had been sent and he sent his best men, only to find they were slaughtered in less than 5 minutes.   
  
The 2 other `copters never made the ground without crashing. The cloaked ones jumpped from high-up buildings   
  
onto the vehicles and took'em down in a hellish blaze. The bodycount of the monsters was medium at most,   
  
and they didn't know how many were out there. The fucking idiot who sent out the order was probably some   
  
traitor from HCF, and would be found and destroyed.   
  
Eito, his 23 year old brother (five years younger than him), stood before him with that look of sympathy about it.   
  
Alot of those men had fought alongside the both of them in many merc battles and small wars. The two had been   
  
sufficently trained and could take care of probably a good portion of this as well. But it seemed that other methods   
  
would have to do if they were to go in. The helicopters' noise attractted them and made them major targets.   
  
As well as the lights....   
  
"Get Woods, Gottwald, Poschl, Chalk, Martin, and Blake suited up."  
  
"Anyone else?"  
  
"No, thank you."  
  
"Any specific weaponry?"  
  
"I'll have my Thirty-Three and Browning HP."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"Night-vision. For everyone. That's a complete order."  
  
"Yes, sir!"   
  
*****   
  
The quiet, dream-like prescence continued beating through Oliver's head. That feeling of immortality mixed   
  
with the sense of worry and fear that death was just about to slice your head off. Oliver almost wondered if   
  
he'd been infectted. Infectted with some kind of virus. He felt sick but healthy at the same time. A twisted   
  
hypocricy of pain and relief. The frustration of seperation was unfathomable. Felt like the war. It was exhilerating   
  
to get kills. But it was painful to have to take lives. A double-edged sword in all fucking respects.   
  
As these restless thoughts filled his restless mind, he slowly began waking up from the slumber he'd softly been   
  
awakened from mildly a few minutes ago. His mind had regained composure, and he slowly began getting up,   
  
feeling a cold, hard cement floor on his front. As he began rising, he noticed the bluish tint on the room coming   
  
from the light above him. Flourescent or neon, he couldn't tell his eyes were so blurred. He looked around to find   
  
himself in a humongously crampped bathroom in a very grungy part of town. No wonder I feel sick..   
  
The bullet wound still stung hard. It wasn't bleeding and seemed patched up after some minor inspection.   
  
Bullet wasn't lodged in there or anything. Totally clean. Nice fellow, whoever got him.   
  
Stumbling slightly towards a light switch, Oliver flicked it, turning on some flourescents around the room, blinding him.  
  
Being unready for it, he turned off the lights and saw what appeared to be a door on the west side of the room.   
  
He walked towards it, and was about to open it when suddenly it swung open with a jolt, pushing Oliver back,   
  
almost making him fall down.   
  
Beyond the door was the glow of a stronger light-source behind the form that stood at the door. He had a   
  
strangely ghost-like feel to him, though entirely shrouded in darkness. There was a shine in the blue flourescent.   
  
Sunglasses. Dark black sunglasses. And what seemed like black skin. Another one of the negro gangsters, probably.   
  
The build was strong, but medium at best overall. mostly in shoulders and upper arms.   
  
This guy could probably bench alot for his size.   
  
While all this seemed intimidating, Oliver was more worried about what was going to happen to the   
  
poor bastard once one of those fucking things got him and ripped HIS spine out....bet the guy wouldn't be   
  
snickering like he was at that moment.   
  
"Well, well, coincedently, you're going out as I'm coming in," the black man chuckled, his face kind yet with a  
  
menacing little secret obviously hiding behind him, "whazzup, man?"  
  
Oliver frowned. "Who are you and where am I?"  
  
"To the point, huh? My name's Alvin. Alvin Warchoski. Don't ask, it's a weird story."  
  
"And where?"  
  
"About 5 miles south of where you nearly blew your fuckin' brains out. Underground as well, about 30 feet under."  
  
"So what is this?"  
  
"It was an old....tunnel system, I dunno," Alvin said, shrugging, entering the bathroom to become a bit more  
  
comfortable. "It connects the main clubs together. Jefferson & Thomason's Bar, The Cleansing Room, and Pump Palace."  
  
"Whatever. Who the fuck shot me?"  
  
"Heh, and people say I'm blunt. Some nigga from down south. Jimmy, I think. He and Louis found ya at the   
  
Pump Palace." "Why did he shoot me?"  
  
"You trying to blow your brains out, man, what the fuck do you think he was gonna do?"  
  
"Look, saying stop is how we do it where I fucking come from. You don't shoot the goddamned fuck who's   
  
trying to do it!" Oliver was starting to get irritated by this little shit.  
  
Damn, he didn't know where he was much. Just the room. If he knew more about the place he'd have just  
  
taken him out right there. But suddenly, he realized he felt a tad more lighter. "Where are my guns?"  
  
"Gun-locker, end of the hall. Look, man, show some fucking consideration that Jim saved your goddamn life.   
  
He hates white boys." "Oh well, there, got my answer there." "Don't try..." Alvin trailed as Oliver just slyly   
  
walked out of the room, out into the hallway.   
  
The hallway was grease-infestted, and looked absolutely heinous. The walls glowing a brighter blue than   
  
the bathroom, showing the teal-colored walls in a bit more of a bluish tint. There was decay and rotting.  
  
It was like an underground club's hallways in one of those grungy areas of town. The area your parents   
  
never wanted you to see.   
  
The floors were littered with cardboard boxes packed with ammunition. Tons of it. Stocked-up, it seemed.   
  
Oliver had a feeling he knew what the purpose of all that was. "Have you seen those...things?"  
  
He was surprised he hadn't mentioned it before. Alvin smirked. "You damn right. Those fuckers are worst than  
  
those trigger-happy cops." Oliver walked towards the final door at the end of the hall.   
  
The door seemed to get even more crumbled as Oliver looked at it. He saw the doorknob, which not only looked   
  
germ-infestted, but had a small bit of a white, yet-clear substance on it. Liquid. "Is that?" "Uhm...yea," Alvin said hesitantly.  
  
"Yech, fucking scum," Oliver muttered and kicked the door open.   
  
It swung open with a sharp fwump and slamming sound against the wall nearby.  
  
The bright light shined in from it, and it appeared to be the illumination that had shined on Alvin's back earlier.  
  
A pair of big powerful flourescents glowed up on the ceiling, shinning all over the gun-packed room.  
  
Racks and racks, wood and steel, covered in illegal guns. Sub machine guns, assault rifles, rocket launchers, everything  
  
that you wanted to have but couldn't.   
  
Oliver almost seemed to drool at this site. Those things are dead meat next time....but, of course, he probably would  
  
be restrictted from all these cool goodies. Alvin smirked happily at the collection.  
  
"You can use what you want, if you're good enough to help us and do so."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes. How many have you killed?"  
  
Oliver shrugged, walking around the empty storage room, Alvin standing by the open door. "I dunno, really," Oliver replied,  
  
"about 16. But I've seen tons of them..."  
  
"16? Man, you're good. On your own?"  
  
"Yeah. I still keep in practice with some paintball on occasion...my health is pretty much fine."  
  
"Pretty much?" Oliver pulled out some cigarttes. "Oh."  
  
The older man pulled a cancer stick out and put it in his mouth. "Got a light?"  
  
"Sure," Alvin replied, pulling out his see-through little thing he picked up when he was younger, lighting Oliver's cig.  
  
"So, do you want to help?"  
  
"You saying I'm good enough?"  
  
"We can only take out about 3 per person."  
  
"That is fucking weak, man."  
  
"These people aren't trained like you are. Marine Corps?"  
  
"Army. It may help you and your people some."  
  
"Watch it."  
  
"Whatever. Hey, you seen those soldiers?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The soldiers. I saw them come in a Huey and get slaughtered, but there be more."  
  
"Oh, THOSE guys. We caught one of their wounded. He's gonna be okay, but, he's so terrified he can't speak."  
  
"Where is he?"  
  
"Look, man, maybe you oughta fucking answer some questions now. I'm sick of this."  
  
"All right then," Oliver gruffly said, sitting down in a chair.  
  
Alvin sat down in his own chair, looking ahead at Oliver. "Who are you?"  
  
"Oliver Johnson."  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"My friend, Jackson, called me down to tell me something. He told me it, and got killed by one of those things coming  
  
from the air."  
  
"So they just rained?"  
  
"Just one did."  
  
"Who have you spoken to here?"  
  
"Just you, some poor fuck who got acid sprayed on his face, and Jackson."  
  
"Who are the soldiers?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Do you know what those things are?"  
  
"Monsters from a company named Umbrella Inc."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Jackson worked for'em told me about some sorta experiments that were being done and so they sent those things to kill him and to kill me."  
  
"So they're after you?"  
  
"Yeah, and if you feed me to'em, I'll haunt you in your fucking dreams."  
  
"Good enough. But I'd like you out of here."  
  
"Fair enough."  
  
"Do you know anyone around here?"  
  
"No. I'm from L.A."  
  
"Quite a jaunt out here."  
  
"Yep. Doesn't matter. Look, I need to get the fuck outta here and all I want is your help. That's it. That's what I want. Now can we just get past this bull-shit, combine forces, and maybe get outta here alive?"  
  
After seeing that this guy was pretty honest, Alvin couldn't help but say, "sure, why not?"  
  
"All right, then. What do I do?"  
  
"Well, I'll send you `n' my best out to search around the area nearby. As far as only a block from here."  
  
"There's a building above us?"  
  
"Yeah, strip joint called Valerie's Secret Spot," Alvin chuckled, not being able to contain it by the ludicriousy of   
  
saying the name of a titty-bar in such a situation.  
  
"Whatever. Who's going?"  
  
"Whoever you want, really."  
  
"Hmm...that guy who shot me trustworthy?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"How about the soldier?"  
  
"He's sleeping right now. Melanie may have him, though, so you might not wanna disturb the guy."  
  
"....oooh. Right."  
  
Yech.  
  
"But, he might be available, sure. You okay with that?"  
  
"I want a fellow soldier. Feels more comfortable."  
  
"I understand. Any weapons you need?"  
  
"Pass me an AK-47 and gimme back my Beretta and Benelli and I should be fine."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
"You got a .45 caliber Sig Sauer P220?"  
  
"...maybe, possibly. I'm not sure."  
  
"Just gimme those four, some good amounts of ammo, and I'll be fine."  
  
"Anyone else besides the soldier?"  
  
"You?"  
  
"....ah, what the hell? Sure."  
  
"Good. When do we move out....sir?" 


	5. Soldier Survivor

CHAPTER 5  
  
Soldier Survivor  
  
Gun powder and blood still filled Jeremy's lungs still, the overwhelming sense of combat still in his veins, pulsing through like  
  
some kind of mutant virus that'd infectted his system. The disgusting, sick feeling of being in a slum mixed with it wasn't  
  
helping any. And Melanie, either. He'd enjoyed it, but a little less loud would've been pleasant after all that loud gunfire and  
  
screaming from his fellow brothers in arms. Their fabrics ripping and tearing with audible ripping noises, the flesh going next.  
  
Blood would soon flow from their wounds, bloodening their skin, staining it later. Then nerves, veins, muscle tissue, sinew,  
  
all the fabrics and makings of the human body would be ripped and torn, jagged claws noisily making scrunchy splattery squirt  
  
noises as it dug through the skin and bodies of Jeremy's comrades, the lungs, throats, and vocal chords screaming out, soon  
  
to be silenced by a swipe to the neck, perhaps. Or the heart being plunged. Or, in the worst case, the hand of one of the  
  
scaley, grizzled-looking lizards going right into the mouth of the soldier, ripping their lungs out, and pulling them up the throat.  
  
Sometimes, the soldier would be alive when this would happen, and they'd see their own ripped lungs bleeding and dissolving  
  
in front of them, before a curled lizard face would smash their skull into the pavement, cracking it internally, causing an  
  
internal form of bleeding and breakage within the head.  
  
Jeremy couldn't stop thinking of the 3 occurances of that he saw. It seemed as if his mind had turned into the factory of some  
  
Italian splatter movie company, creating the things he'd seen as a teenager with those Lucio Fulci and Dario Argento movies.  
  
But, this was real. They weren't movie memories, they were real memories. And that made it bad. Very bad, indeed. Sensing  
  
his mind was probably going to be trapped within this hell unless he did something to take his mind off, he slowly began rising  
  
out of his bed in the corner of the overly crampped room. The bluish walls and the teal light gave it an odd, surreal underwater  
  
feel, and he almost expectted to see a shark or a sea turtle right next to him when he looked over the edge of the bed at his  
  
assault rifle. They'd let him keep it, he didn't seem like a threat, having even grenaded three of those fucking freaks of nature  
  
and saved a good 10 or more of the gangsters.  
  
As Jeremy slowly rose to the floor, his barefeet sticking to the greasy, smelly floor of corroded wood instantly. He shook his  
  
head and rose to his feet, standing up, stretching his arms a bit. He yawned whilst doing so, and scratched at some sweat on  
  
his ribcage, going over to the nightstand to pick up his black t-shirt. The one they'd supplied. He wasn't much a fan of KMFDM,  
  
but, it'd do.  
  
He slid the fabricated T-shaped clothing down his torso and adjusted it to fit, and went to his socks and combat boots. Picking  
  
them up with one hand, he grabbed the calf-holster for his Walter PPK with his other hand, going to the bed again. He sat down,  
  
the biege-colored mattress creaking softly, indented by his weight. With great military organization and speed, Jeremy got his  
  
socks and boots on within almost a new record for him, 30 seconds. He'd mastered the skill of doing this due to the fact he was  
  
always called on spontaneously, and he wanted his reflexes and reliability to be there on time be at maximum capacity.  
  
Quickly sliding both boots on and tying them almost as fast, Jeremy quickly raised his left pant leg and within another 10  
  
seconds flat, he had the calf-holster around his lower leg, the PPK loaded in and tied down. Safetied, as well. With only a shot  
  
in the chamber. Less weight. Again, Jeremy's speed was a major thing to him. He had an extra clip, but mostly he knew that  
  
if he needed the PPK - one shot was all he was probably gonna get to use anyways. Sliding the pant-leg down, the Umbrella  
  
soldier stood to his feet, but in the process of getting up, grabbed his assault rifle (his favorite kind, the Fabrique Nationale   
  
Carabine (FNC)), unfolding the stock and getting it at his side in one movement. Again, speed. :)  
  
Holding the rifle tightly by the foregrip/grip, keeping his right index on the trigger-guard, Jeremy took one final look at this  
  
room where he'd only been in 3 hours before, trying to recover from the fall he'd made from the building while he was being  
  
chased by the group of what he called "Spitters". He'd fallen about a story down and landed on pavement. But, thankfully had  
  
tosed one of his 3 remaining M67 fragmentation grenades at the things, blowing them into bits. Nothing had hit him, which he  
  
was very glad of, since he'd heard this batch of the MA-121s had the T-virus in their claws, so that if they didn't kill you, the  
  
virus would get you in about, oh, 30 minutes. High dosage this time. Those fuckers. Why the hell couldn't they realize you  
  
let nature create living weapons. Not make them yourself....  
  
He'd always hated working for Umbrella, but man, did it pay well. Just out of college, he'd been. Gotten a degree in  
  
computer sciences, trying to become a programmer for some software company. Hopefully get a shot at the job Id Software  
  
was handing out after DooM 3 was announced. He'd also taken business management to help with any business skills he'd  
  
need for clients, bosses, etc. And little did he know he was going to have to use some just as he began walking towards the  
  
door. As he took one step, with that heavy clunk, the door was knocked on, startling Jeremy beyond his expectations. One bad  
  
thing about his speed - expectting the unexpectted in that form wasn't so good. He'd always need backup.  
  
"Jeremy, it's Alvin!" Alvin's now-familiar voice was overheard from behind the door. "C'mon in," Jeremy grunted, aiming the  
  
assault rifle in a safer direction - at the closet. The door clicked and began to swing open slowly, Alvin beginning to walk into  
  
the cramped room. It could fit him and Jeremy fine, but Oliver, who was tailing behind Alvin, wasn't gonna do too well.  
  
With difficulty, Oliver closed the door, and he and Alvin looked at Jeremy, Jeremy looking back, and curiously at Oliver. He  
  
smirked in that kind of smart-ass hotshot way, even though behind that, he was scared shitless. Oliver looked mean. Really  
  
mean. Like in the Agent Smith way. Where you don't really wanna be in the same room as that guy. But, he kinda had to in  
  
this situation. He kept the safety on his assault rifle off, just in case Oliver turned out to not be sucha good fella. Since he'd  
  
heard about the guy in his briefing. That pretty much whoever got in his way would get either yelled at or punched. And his  
  
experience in 2 wars really showed in that semi-fried, hardened look in his face. Especially the eyes. Almost as stone cold as  
  
those creatures out there. While kind of lost in thought, Alvin cleared his throat, the young soldier getting to attention.  
  
"Whadda want?" Jeremy, again, grunted. Alvin smirked at the attitude, but shook it off. "Mr. Johnson, here, wants to speak  
  
with you..." Jeremy raised an eyebrow at Oliver who smirked and grunted back at him. Attitude for attitude. Boy, someone was  
  
gonna have to break out the drain-o for the testosterone in the room. The older man leered at the soldier and grinned madly.  
  
"So, you was in after ME?" That voice. Dark, hoarse, like some Harvey Keitel character from a Quentin Tarantino movie he'd  
  
seen back in the day. Oliver growled softly at Jeremy, making him nearly sweat, but he wasn't gonna let him get to his system  
  
and fuck things up...not now, at least. Unless he had to fake it.  
  
Oliver smirked and chuckled. "I saw your buddies get ripped apart. Sorry to see, I know what it's like to lose fellow soldiers, but  
  
nonetheless, I need your soldier's honorary word that you are NOT gonna kill me." Jeremy saw this coming and chuckled. The  
  
first thing that was more than a grunt to come out of him in front of the two. "Trust me, man, I just want my paycheck so I  
  
can go the fuck home and be with my wife, all right?" This errily began to remind Oliver, himself, of a time on his second tour  
  
during `Nam. He'd gotten married to his high school sweetheart as soon as he'd gotten back from his first, and then on the  
  
second, he just wanted to get back more than anything.  
  
Seeing the two being a bit more friendly towards him, Jeremy safetied his rifle and smirked at the two. "So, why are you  
  
coming to me, asking me for help, huh?" he asked non-chalantly, to the point. Alvin took this one on, trying to sound unafraid  
  
and succeeding not too badly. "We need to get out of the warehouse district. We know there's no cops around here and any  
  
patrolmen who come through here are probably dead by now. So, we need to get our people up to par on tactical strategy  
  
mechanics so we can maybe get the fuck out of this place," he explained simply and quickly. Jeremy chewed the information  
  
for a second and then raised an eyebrow, scratching his growing stubble of facial hair. "Right. Sounds like a plan. How many  
  
we got to train?" Jeremy asked, yawning heavily afterwards.  
  
Alvin scratched his chin as he thought, then responded, "`bout 40. We got 5 who've been studying it like madmen, tho."  
  
Oliver frowned, raising an eyebrow now,then said, "we three go up topside with 2 of them. The other 3, the more experienced,   
  
train as many of the others as we can. Are these guys stable and all right with being tense and being ordered?" Alvin chuckled,  
  
"I work'em like fuckin' DOGS, they gonna be all right."  
  
Oliver smirked. "Right, good. We leave in 20." 


	6. Dark Streets, Blazing Gunfire

Chapter 6  
  
Dark Streets, Blazing Gunfire  
  
They'd never known what'd hit them. The APC was soon flipped, the T.I.U. got out, got cracking, assault rifles and machine guns spewing lead death, the green monsters of doom taking major hits as the crimson fluid splattered from their bodies. They were quickly falling back to a point that the radar said had little-to-none of the Hunters. Hopefully their patches packed of ammo would keep them, as well as the numerous grenades they had.  
  
They were running down Lansdale St., Chalk and Woods turning around occasionally to tose off a shockwave grenade (special issue to T.I.U.) to eradicate another four or five of what seemed like scores and scores of the creatures, continuing to sprint for the spot they'd seen. Kenji and Poschl were in the lead, their weapons (an H&K 33K for Kenji, Colt M4 for Poschl) in hands, with Blake right behind them, looking to either side to see if there was any of the things coming to sidewind them. To the left was just a fence and behind it a construction yard. To his left were more buildings, industrial-area stuff, as usual. Blake could feel the beads of sweat fall down his face from running. He was majorly out of shape in the running area. A sharpshooter with that one lacking thing. Running stamina. He clutched harder on both his sidearms, the pair of Berettas, the cold black look still not helping him face his fear.  
  
Meanwhile, Woods finally found a chance to maybe pick off more than 5 of the bastards with his M249 FN-MiniMi (or simply "SAW"). Near an alleyway was a trashbin. Big enough and far out enough for him to hide behind. He quickly charged to his left, getting behind the trashbin in no time, as Chalk continued onwards. The fierce army of Hunters kept charging down the streets, their howls and screechings high in the air, deafening and terrifying. Woods got himself supported and lifted the barrel of the SAW. As the Hunters began to pass his view, he pulled the trigger, holding it down as a huge stream of bullet fire began to pierce through the wave of Hunters, knocking down one, as the bullets would sometimes continue on, taking two, more and more, then it was five, they kept falling, right into his trap, but didn't realize it until about 12 of them seemed to go down. Knowing he'd better get out of there soo, Woods stopped firing, having used up a good 50-70 rounds of the 100-round box, remembering he still had one shockwave grenade. He pulled it out, the cylindar design similar to flashbangs and HE grenades, but with a teal ring around the middle, Woods ripped off the pin and tosed it over the bin, but under stepped it, the thing only hitting the top of the trashbin. Rushing with lightning speed and widened eyes, Woods sprinted off, dropping his SAW and pulling out his sidearm, a Glock as with all of them except Blake; but was too late. The shockwave blew up, vaporizing the trashbin, and pushing Woods up into the air, higher and higher, and as he looked over at the construction yard, he saw one of those things, ready to leap at him, beginning to see the other faction of the creatures coming from the north side, through the yard. But that was the last thing Woods saw, as another one of the creatures leaped into him as he came down, slicing his body in two as the two parts opened up, his black uniform stained with red, his intestines falling, the group splattering on the pavement, for the hungry monsters to begin devouring, but most just continued on, going for their prey, 20 or so left at this point, joined by another 15.  
  
Chalk turned around, seeing the horrible mass of creatures coming for them, then turned to his left (having done a 180) and saw one of them leaping right up and towards him, giving him a fatal swipe as it came down on him, slice a huge gash on his side, large enough to cut down to his intestinal tract, disemboweling him, as he fell to the side, a bleeding, twitching corpse. But not without having opened one of his HE grenades. A few moments later, as three of the hunters began gathering around to eat Chalk, KA-PHOOM! The grenade exploded, blasting shrapnel and hot flames up into the air, gibbing the three hunters into chunks that flew towards the already enraged and aggitated monsters, making them even more so, as they hurried even faster, some trying to jump in front to get at the still-running group of Martin and Gottwald who were now in the back, with Blake in the middle, blasting at the Hunters coming up the side, and the Kenji/Poschl team hurrying up, Poschl still inspecting his radar with Kenji turning back and trying to hold off any of the monsters coming for them.  
  
Martin continued firing rapidly with his Steyr AUG, the 5.56mm rounds doing barely anything to stop them on 3-round burst mode, but the Full-Auto didn't do much help either. Frustrated, he stopped, just continuing to fire, finally taking one down with three shots to the head. Then, as another one began heading for him, he pulled the trigger again, hoping the 3-round burst mode would be enough this time as well, but all he heard was the "CLK-K!", his jaw dropping, and a group of four hunters pouncing on him, ripping him limb-from-limb, doing the game they used to play in their cells with the pigs.  
  
Gottwald quickly sent off burst after burst of 9mm fire from his MP5, only taking down one or two of the creatures before he just growled a swear word in German, tosing his MP5 away and turning around, sprinting as fast as he could. The fastest of them all, the recon, he was. He'd be able to make it. He continued on, faster, passing Blake by on his right, soon zooming around Poschl who went by on his left, running further and further, seeing the spot they'd seen on the radar. It was an old run-down looking bar called "Jefferson and Thomason's". What irony. A bar is the haven from horror in the world. Gottwald kept running for it, but suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, spewing blood from his mouth, out onto the face of the hunter right in front of him. The cloaked MA-1400 had jammed its claw straight through Gottwald's body, him not even realizing it until he looked down at the changing colored Cloaker. Trembling lightly, but still alive, Gottwald gagged on his own blood as the Cloaker lifted him up, and then retractted its claw, letting Gottwald, skewered, fall down to the concrete ground, bleeding profusely, now dead.  
  
Poschl looked up just in time to see the Cloaker. Then other shifts in the backround. Tons of them. Shit. He'd forgotten about them. The Cloakers also had modifiable body-heat, which would adjust to whatever room temputure they had, so as to not be picked up by IR or heat-sensors, and to avoid heat-seeking missiles. He quickly grabbed onto Kenji's arm, getting shaken up a bit by the loud HK33 fire. Kenji pulled his finger off the trigger and Poschl quickly pointed towards the bar, and the now-transforming Cloakers, which hissed and roared at the three remaining Tactial Infiltration Unit members. Kenji growled in anger. "Goddammit. Cloakers." "I forgot they'd been sent out. Spitters probably, too." Just then Blake ran into the two by accident, not paying too close attention. The three didn't care, they just looked around, seeing the group of about 40 monsters, 20 Cloakers, 20 Hunters. All closing in. They felt the sinking feeling this was now their demise, but Kenji just smirked, beginning to reload his rifle. "Let's dance."  
  
*****  
  
The gunfire had alertted Oliver and Jeremy who were in the Jefferson/Thomason Bar that there was something going on outside. They were, at that moment, getting themselves prepared to go out and do a scouting. The occasional explosion showed whoever was coming in, was defintly not coming in unprepared.  
  
Oliver paced around the dark, dank bar for a small time, walking along the tiled yellow/black floors, dust crumbling from the ceiling as their watcher up top, Richard, came down the stairs, looking incredibly nervous. His dark black skin nearly blended with the dark walls behind him as Oliver stared at him. "What is it?" Richard shrugged, not really sure what it was. "Just...some guys tosing grenades, then they all kept getting killed. It was too dark to see." Jeremy rose an eyebrow. "And you got supposed 'night vision'?" "It only works without any fires or flashbangs going off!" Oliver and Jeremy exchanged glances. "Did you see ANYTHING besides those guys? Like were they not ours?" "I couldn't tell." Jeremy interjectted, "We're kind of in the outback. It may be some of Alvin's guys who were to come out here." Oliver thought, but quickly replied, "Alvin's in the john, he's not giving orders-"  
  
Just then, another large bunch of gunfire exploded, this time closer, some shots actually being sent through the front door of the bar, causing the three to take cover behind some objects, but Richard was too slow to get behind the bar, a shot hitting him in his brain, fatal, and blasting his skull bits and what was left of his thinking part on the wall behind him, his body falling and thumping on the floor. Jeremy and Oliver were behind one of the tables, where Jeremy's FNC was laying. Quickly he reached for it as Oliver pulled out his M8000S again, checking the clip quick as another large blast of gunfire and tons of those weird things' screeching emitted. This time, it was more, gurgled, something even worse? Then the clicking of something, and a HUGE blast, which blew the front door off its hinges, pushing it through and into the bar, and smashing it against the door to the men's restroom which was next to the stairs to the second floor (and beyond, the roof). After the sound of the explosion subsided, Alvin's voice came from behind the bathroom door. "Hey, I'm IN HERE! You guys kill those monsters a little less close, okay?!" Oliver screamed back, "that wasn't us, Al! Get your stinky ass out here!"  
  
With a grumble and a flushing of the toilet, then a few seconds wait, Alvin emerged from the bathroom, and looked down, seeing the blasted-open door in front of him, the doorway that was empty, and two soldier-types running for the door, shooting all around themselves, the horrifying screeches now loud and ear-piercing. The loud sound of a sniper rifle firing then echoed loudly, making the three exchange glances as Alvin moved over to the bar, ducking behind it as the two soldiers, followed by a third, ran inside, hiding behind the edges of the door, near the phones and pinball machines. The Cloakers screeched, and began to rush inside, smelling the air, about to gain the scent of the three soldiers when Oliver's shot rang out, blasting one hunter in front, alerting the soldiers to get the two other ones. The Japanese-looking soldier raised his rifle and fired off another three round burst into the back of the skull, blasting three messy, oozing holes out the front as the creature fell forward. Then the one with the large sniper rifle, with a hastily put-on gas mask, aimed his sniper rifle, and pulled the trigger aimlessly, but hit the third and final Cloaker, blasting a big gaping hole in the body, as the bullet whizzed on by and the edge of the table Jeremy and Oliver were hiding behind, knicking a large chunk off it. The two soldiers by the pinball machine, the masked one and the one with spikey brown hair, quickly grabbed onto the broken down machine and dragged it over to the entrance, closing off a good portion of the entrance just enough to hold back or to dismay the monsters outside. They screeched and howled in anger, but then, the bar went silent. Too silent.  
  
The Japanese-looking soldier looked at the other two, and then around the bar, to check if anything was out of the ordinary. Nothing they could see. Then again, the eyes can be deceiving..., but he neverminded it. "Ammo check," he muttered, a shaky fear still in his voice. The masked one put his sniper rifle on the floor, the barrel sticking up, and pulled out his sidearm, the dual Berettas. He emptied the clips and reloaded quickly as the spikey brown-haired one began patting his clip pouches. "Uh, still got about 30 rounds in the rifle, and 4 clips for the Berettas," the masked one said, filtered through the mask. The spikey brown-haired one nodded, "2 more clips for the M4, usual 2 for my Glock." Just then, as the Japanese Soldier nodded, with the brown-haired soldier beginning to look at the radar, the loud ring of a cell-phone went through the room, making the three train their weapons on the area of the cell-phone, behind the bar.  
  
Alvin perked up, and took out his cell-phone, opening it up, and bringing his ear to the receiver. "I told you never to call me hear," he whispered. The voice on the other end was cut off by gunfire, but was able to scream out, "WE'RE UNDER A-!" Which was simply before the line was cut out. We are under attack. "Oh shit," Alvin swore under his breath, just audible enough for the spikey brown-haired soldier to hear. "Who's there?" he asked.  
  
That voice! Jeremy recognized it, thankfully. "Daniel! It's Jeremy!" He got up slow enough for the three to see him, as they looked at him getting up, with Poschl clicking on the flashlight on his Glock, shining it in Jeremy's vacinity. "Ahh! Down the headlights, man!" Kenji, relieved, exhaled. "You're the last one of the Delta team?" he asked, hoping the answer was no. But sadly, "yes, I am. Depressingly enough....I came accross some of the gangsters in this area. We're all trying to get outta here." Kenji smirked. Typical Umbrella Countermeasures Service. Mercs with heart. "Anyone else here?" Oliver raised his hand, as did Alvin, the two getting up soon after. Blake took off his mask and put his handguns back. "Ah, good. Our target." Poschl smacked Blake upside the head really quick and harshly, making the younger soldier than him get pushed forward, almost tripping. "Agh! What the fuck?!" "Dude, getting out and ALIVE is more important. They'll just think you're DEAD, sucker," Poschl replied. Kenji shook his head. "These two have been fighting since we set out," he said to the others, "have you got resources?"  
  
Alvin nodded, smirking, beginning to move to a more comfortable spot, a seat at the bar. "Yeah, we got resources. A helluva lotta them." Jeremy snickered, "enough to start a small war, man." "Yeah, but I'd like to know if you bastards are gonna fucking kill me or not," Oliver bluntly said, changing the subject forcively. Kenji smirked again, while Blake scoffed, "well, seeing as how you swear more than I do, I think I'll let you live. I respect those kinds of people." Poschl snickered and looked at the radar again, seeing a clear reading, the fading signals of the cloakers following. "Well, good news. They're leaving." Kenji nodded, walking towards Alvin, extending his hand. "My name's Kenji. The smart-ass over there is Blake and the tech-geek is Poschl." The two soldiers nodded. Alvin nodded back, "I'm Alvin, then there's Oliver and Jeremy over there." Oliver saluted slightly while Jeremy just waved lightly with an untrusting face. "So, who's the leader now that we've combined forces?" Oliver asked, picking up his Benelli and going to rest on the stairs. Sitting down groaningly, he pulled out a cigartte and lit it up. Poschl perked up and looked at Oliver. "Hey, don't smoke those! The Spitters are attractted to tobacco smoke. They were meant for the jungle tobacco and marijuana growers!" Oliver growled, and put the but of the cig. out. "Fucking monsters. So, YOU guys are from Umbrella, huh? What's the big deal with them?"  
  
Kenji just scoffed. "Who cares. All I know is they make organic bio-weapons to sell on the black market. No one's seen the President of the company, and we're basically the guys who do the tactical dirty work. Assasinations, terminations, rescue missions usually when the U.B.C.S. fails." Jeremy frowned. "I personally only care about getting the goddamned fuck out of here," Oliver said, "but thank you for that information. And again, who's gonna be the leader?" Kenji and Alvin exchanged looks, shrugging. "You?" Alvin nodded to Kenji, who chuckled. "Not without my brother Eito...he's somewhere out there, said he was near some dance club called the Pump Palace." Alvin's eyes widened, remembering as usual. "Hey! He may be alive. There's a tunnel system down belooooow the ground here that connects this place, the Pump Palace, and the Cleansing Room together. Wanna give it a..." then, he remembered further, " oh....I got a call...they said they were under attack, there was gunfire...was that him?" Kenji shook his head. "He's even more noble than me. He wouldn't kill in cold blood like that. But, until we meet up with him, you're still leader." Alvin nodded. "All right...what are your guys' skills? And yours?" Kenji nodded to Blake. "He's the sharpshooter, with the best accuracy I've seen. Keeping him on a rooftop is great." Then nodded to Poschl. "He's a gadget man. He can make just about anything. Make dynamite real quick. And he knows a HUGE amount about these monsters. And weird facts about animals." Poschl then commentted to Blake, "did you know that Dolphins are the only other species besides humans the fuck just for the fun of it?" Blake chuckled, "lucky dolphins."  
  
Alvin nodded. "All right. Blake?" Blake turned to him, looking at him with that kinda smart-assed face someone with low patience gives. "Yeah?" "There's a building I want you to stay close to. The Cleansing Room. We'll drop you off there. Get up to the roof and watch out." Out from his left pocket, Alvin pulled out a cell-phone, an extra one, and tosed it at Blake, who caught it. "My number is 666-1986. Call me if you find ANYTHING. I mean anything. Even if you just see one of those things, okay?" Blake nodded, pocketing it and grabbing his sniper rifle, the great ol' Steyr Scout with blue finish. Alvin then looked at the others, "Jeremy, you keep below in the Cleansing Room to give Blake some backup, okay?" Jeremy nodded his acknowledgement. "Oliver, you and Kenji come with me." Kenji nodded, Oliver shrugging a response like "yeah, whatever." Poschl then looked around. "What about me?" he asked, a bit nervous. "I want you to drop by the Pump Palace. I'll point da way for ya. There's a computer in there. Get in and e-mail a guy named Greggory Dremor for me, would you? The account's always on." Poschl, as with the others, nodded.  
  
"All right ramblers. Let's get ramblin'!" 


End file.
